Mrs. France smilingly shook her head.
"I don't want to meddle with the men's business. And we're a long way yet from catching up with our own. Oh, my husband has a lot of scientific objections. But that's mine." Then her face grew serious—"anyway, we can all agree, I hope, in hating violence. That can never settle it."
She looked a little sternly at her young companion.
"That depends," said Delia. "But we mustn't argue, Mrs. France. I should only make you angry. Ah!"
She sprang up and went to the window, just as steps could be heard on the gravel outside.
"Here's someone coming." She turned to Mrs. France. "Is it Mr.
Winnington?"
"It is!" said her visitor, after putting on her glasses.
Delia surveyed him, standing behind the lace curtain, and Mrs. France was relieved to see that a young person of such very decided opinions could be still girlishly curious. She herself rose to go.
"Good-bye. I won't interrupt your talk with him."
"Good-looking?" said Delia, with mischief in her eyes, and a slight gesture towards the approaching visitor.